


A Room Full Of Mirrors

by dear_monday



Series: Veins Are Red, Veins Are Blue [2]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampires, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dear_monday/pseuds/dear_monday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard shakes his head, running his fingers idly through Frank's untidy hair. "Not really. It's not so bad, it's not like I <i>miss</i> looking in the mirror." In which Gerard is a lousy mechanic and Frank is his mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Room Full Of Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> For [Darlina](http://thebatass.tumblr.com), who was feeling sad.

Gerard can feel Frank's reproachful stare like a rope around his neck. He's scowling and swearing under his breath as he grapples with the car's engine. Or - well. Frank is still in the passenger seat and Gerard is shielded by the hood of the car, trying to figure out why they've broken down in the ass end of nowhere. He's trying very hard to look like he's wrestling manfully with the engine, because he sort of feels that it's something he ought to do. In fact, he's prodding at it cautiously and hissing when it burns his cool fingers. It looks terrifyingly complicated, and even if he _did_ know what had gone wrong, he still wouldn't have a clue how to fix it. After a few more moments, he judges that he's been at it for long enough and clambers back into the driver's side.

"It's a busted, uh, thing," he says. "Looks bad." He attempts a suitably grave expression.

Frank gives him a long, skeptical look, then snorts. "You're so full of shit," he says. "A busted _thing_ , oh my _god_. C'mon, I'll call Triple-A."

"Fine," huffs Gerard, intensely relieved. "See if I care."

Frank pulls out his cell and summons the number. While he talks, Gerard tunes out and just watches him, his profile cut out of the inky, star-peppered sky outside. He can see, he thinks, abstractedly, what drew Frank to tattoos. He looks like _he_ should be inked onto someone's skin, there's just something about him - some cleanness of line, some symmetry of form.

"What?" Frank says, and Gerard realizes with a start that he's done talking to Triple-A.

"Nothing," says Gerard, quickly, feeling borrowed blood blossoming in his cheeks. They've been together a while now, but Frank still occasionally makes him feel all of fifteen years old again. Gerard is supposed to be a majestic creature of darkness, it's definitely beneath his dignity to _blush_.

"No, come on - is there something on my face?" Frank is teasing him, Gerard knows, making a big show of leaning across him to peer at his reflection in the driver's side wing mirror.

"Fuck _off_ , asshole," Gerard half-laughs, shoving at him while Frank giggles that stupid pot giggle and squirms in his lap. "You know you're a pretty motherfucker, you don't need to show off."

Frank beams up at him unrepentantly, his head resting on Gerard's thigh. He bats his eyelashes, and Gerard rolls his eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself, you know," Frank says, going still, one corner of his mouth pulling up. His eyes are huge and dark and guileless, and if Gerard still had breath, it would have hitched.

"Yeah?" he says. "I don't really remember."

"You don't? Seriously?"

Gerard shakes his head, running his fingers idly through Frank's untidy hair. "Not really. It's not so bad, it's not like I _miss_ looking in the mirror."

"You should," Frank says, seriously. "You're a knockout."

Gerard doesn't really know what to do with that. He wants to say something devastatingly witty, but someone seems to have robbed him blind of all the words he knows. "I. Really?" he says instead, mentally kicking himself. He thought he'd be used to Frank's disarming honesty by now, but it still blindsides him sometimes and leaves him breathless. Well. Figuratively speaking, at least.

"Yeah," Frank says softly. "I never met anyone with a face like yours before. You got these eyes, like... I don't know, like you can see this whole other world. Really dark, you know? The first time I saw you it was like you were looking through me."

"I was hungry," Gerard protests. "And then you showed up on my doorstep, all wet and..." he makes a vague gesture that encompasses Frank's general Frank-ness. _All wet and pretty and tattooed and god, you smelled so fucking good. I could have bitten you right there in the hallway._

"And you've got this weird, awkward mouth," Frank carries on, ignoring him completely. "You talk out of the side of it."

"I do not." Gerard raises one hand to his mouth and says it again. "Oh my god, I totally do."

"Yeah. Then sometimes you smile - like, smile for real with all your teeth - and I can see the fangs. And I can feel the last place where you bit me."

Gerard feels a momentary shiver that has nothing to do with the chilly night. "Is that good?"

"Mm." Frank unconsciously reaches up to touch the mottled bruise on the side of his throat, pressing his fingers against the tender spot. "And, and - this little fucking pixie nose. It kind of scrunches up when you're annoyed. Yeah, exactly. You're doing it now, you know."

Gerard quickly rearranges his features into what he hopes is a haughty expression. "I am not," he says, archly. "Watch it, puny mortal."

Frank sticks his tongue out. "Or what, you'll bite me? 'Cause you know I'll just get a boner if you do and then the Triple-A people are gonna have to see me jacking off."

"You little _shit_ ," Gerard says, with feeling, but he dips his head to nuzzle against Frank's neck to hide his grin.

"You're the one with the permanent sex hair," Frank retorts.

"Seriously?" Gerard sits back up and runs a hand through his hair. He can feel the snarls and tangles in it; it's getting too long again. He'll have to get Frank to cut it for him soon. Although, then again... "Permanent sex hair?" he repeats, thoughtfully.

Frank snorts. "Nah, just kidding. You look like a dirty vampire hobo."

"Oh, _that's_ nice," huffs Gerard, pouting a little.

"A very dashing vampire hobo," Frank assures him, reaching up to pat him on the cheek. He misses and pokes him in the eye instead, but Gerard doesn't mind.

"I don't know why you're still here, if I look like such a train wreck," he says, only half-joking. He thinks there's a small part of him that will always be a sad, lonely fat kid, no matter how many years he gets behind him or how happy he is.

"Hey," Frank says sternly. He pokes Gerard again, this time on purpose. "Stop it. You're fucking gorgeous, okay? And I know that because I actually get to see your face."

Gerard tries to produce a comeback, but draws a resounding blank. "You're not so bad yourself," he says, instead, by which he really means, _you're still the prettiest fucking thing I've ever seen_. He's always vaguely, blearily aware that Frank must see something in him (apart from the fangs, god, Frank and his weird fucking kinks), or he wouldn't have stuck around this long. But it still throws Gerard in the most delicious way when Frank just comes out and says it, like it's nothing at all.

"So I've been told," Frank says complacently, stretching out like a cat in the cramped car seat. He darts a look up at Gerard from under his eyelashes, his smile turning wicked. "Hey. We've still got some time before the Triple-A guys get here. You thirsty?"


End file.
